


creature comforts

by bulut



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comfort Sex, Coronavirus, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Stress Relief, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulut/pseuds/bulut
Summary: His hands are always cold but his boyfriend's mouth is always hot.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80





	creature comforts

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote most of this earlier into the pandemic so it's probably not that relevant anymore (plus possibly feels disconnected), but we need all the yamakage content we can get so i thought i should post it nonetheless. it also perfectly doubles as a cautionary tale as to why you shouldn't use seventy-three commas and five semicolons in a single sentence like i clearly did here! perfect, right...

Working from home has always been how Tadashi earns his money, but an obligation to stay home is entirely different.

He can’t get a change of air, he can’t grab his laptop and stroll into the nearest café, he can’t go buy a bag of snacks to dig in as soon as he comes back. No, he has to sanitise them or wait the virus out, he has to take a shower and dry his hair, he has to sacrifice an hour at least for what should have been the simplest of pleasures he could ask for in life.

He hasn’t stepped outside in weeks.

He’s sprawled out on the bed now, working on an article, pleading his uncooperative brain to power through for half an hour more, but it’s a lost cause. He forgets to open the windows to let fresh air in. He forgets to switch on the lights. He forgets to sit up, cycling through various horizontal positions throughout the day. Under these conditions, in effect for months now, it’s no wonder said brain can’t concentrate.

He might be taking it too far. He knows he’ll be fine going out once in a while as long as he takes the necessary precautions. Tobio has been going to work for some time now, delivering mail all day, and he shares a bed with the man.

He just doesn’t have it in him to go out and see how different the world has become, then come back home and have to scrub himself clean from some little, deadly thing he can’t even see.

His mother calls every week. There’s nothing new to say. Nothing changes in his life. He still hides the same things he used to hide. It’s exhausting to talk to her but he doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything.

The only good thing to come out of this, probably, is how he has a reason not to accept guests or visit others’ places, to keep his mother at a safe distance. Tobio has to crash at Hinata’s, banished from his own home for the weekend, every time she comes to visit. Tadashi has to go for days without so much as hearing the sound of Tobio’s breathing every time he visits the family home.

He zones out into the white of their sheets sometimes, only snapping out of it when he realises he’s frothing with fury, angry at the double bed, angry at the clothes in the wardrobe, angry the man who will come home in the evening, angry at his coward self, hating everything.

He knows he’ll forget it all the moment Tobio comes home because what’s a house but four walls if Tobio isn’t in it to make it home. Where in the world can he ever feel safe if not in Tobio’s arms. Isn’t he the one who loves Tadashi unconditionally, loves him purely, with all he has, against all odds, fighting an entire society, taking on an entire world. The way he takes it, solemn and without a word, when he has to find another roof over his head because Tadashi’s mother is coming, how he might as well not exist for such an integral part of Tadashi’s world, the way he takes it without reproach, only kisses him goodbye, leaves Tadashi wanting to cry. But it gets too much, sometimes, used to be less often before the lockdown, now he has nothing to do but stare at a computer screen and watch the ceiling, now even Tobio is not home because he has to work in the outside world, nothing at home to distract Tadashi from how much he misses, nowadays it’s always too much.

He’s circling patterns on the bedsheets when he hears the lock turning; then he’s seventeen again, heart in throat as he walks Tobio home with a hand in his.

A _fwish_ as shoes slide onto the shoe rack, _psoosh_ as plastic bags are left on the kitchen floor, _clack_ as the bathroom door opens. Tadashi doesn’t call out “welcome back”—his voice would give away the heavy he feels. He lets Tobio think he’s asleep for a little longer. He shuts down his laptop and places it on the bedside table, listening to the hiss of hot water through the pipes.

If he doesn’t want to think, Tobio has the answer. If he needs to stop stressing, Tobio has the answer. Tobio always has the answer, in the soft brush of his lips, in the feather touch of his hands. In his wake, ghosts lingering where he’s passed even when he’s gone, Tobio has the answer. He always has the answer.

The bathroom door opens. Tobio brings humid air with him, warm with how hot he likes to take his shower. When he sees Tadashi awake, he smiles.

Nobody would believe Tadashi if he said he still felt the same when he saw that smile as he used to way back at high school when they first met, but here he is. His heart beats.

“Welcome back,” he says, and he’s smiling, too.

Tobio settles next to him on the bed after he’s changed into clean clothes and drawn the curtain closed. He pulls Tadashi into a side hug, reclining them both until they’re halfway lying down. “How was your day?”

“I did nothing but write some and stare into the distance, as usual.” Tadashi snuggles tight against Tobio, chasing warmth. He drapes an arm across Tobio’s waist. “Cooked rice. Missed you.”

Tobio’s voice is muffled when he brings his lips to Tadashi’s hair and says, “I missed you, too.”

A languid calm settles over their relaxed forms as the last rays of sunlight vanish from the world.

Tobio, cheek now smushed on top of Tadashi’s head, speaks again. “A child I saw today reminded me of you. She was clinging on her mother’s skirts, calling ‘mummy’ like you used to call ‘Tsukki’.”

Tadashi laughs. “Jerk.”

Tobio hums his contentment. He stretches, the arm previously around Tadashi placed lower on his back when it returns. “It’s been months since we last saw them in person.”

The smile leaves Tadashi’s features as he’s reminded his sadness from earlier. He presses his forehead into Tobio’s shirt. He has a hard time hearing his own words when he mutters an affirmation.

“Tadashi?”

“I was thinking,” Tadashi blurts out, mostly to keep from crying, “I haven’t seen my family in a while, either. But I’m not sad about it at all.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, turns out I’m really not,” Tadashi mouths into Tobio’s shirt. “That I’m not is what I’m sad about.”

A beat passes before Tobio answers. “I can see how.” He lowers his head, his face now closer to Tadashi’s. “Were you thinking about this before I came home?”

Tadashi looks up to meet Tobio’s eyes. “Yes. That and how relieved I am now that you don’t have to spend the night away from home and how I don’t have to refrain from calling you in case someone hears.”

“That’s a silver lining, I guess,” Tobio replies, and they fall silent, fall deep into each other’s eyes.

Tadashi knows this man, knows him enough to see he deliberately keeps the conversation light, has known him for long enough to remember he hasn’t always been like this. Younger Tobio was blunt; he didn’t know what to do in precarious situations like this where he’d needed sensitivity with his words. Now he knows, and he knows because he wanted to know, wanted to be more tactful for Tadashi. He’s told Tadashi himself.

His eyes reflect the years they’ve spent together, smoothing edges previously thought immutable, reshaping to fit each other’s alcoves. His curves fit in with Tadashi’s, his body hugs Tadashi’s so nicely, like they were born to lie here, to be together like this.

Tadashi has enough love, enough adoration in his heart to fill every crevice on Tobio’s body, the hollowed out parts of his heart, the desolate corners of his mind and have that much more to spare.

“Tobio,” he murmurs. Tobio bows his head deeper to hear him better. “I have too much time to think nowadays.” He presses a finger on Tobio’s lips to keep him from talking. The soft lips instantly cushion around his fingers to accommodate. “I’m the happiest when I’m with you, but sometimes the world makes me bitter and I forget about that happiness until I see you again.”

Severing the eye contact is tempting but he resists. He should do this right. His finger drops from Tobio’s lips, hand now cupping his cheek. “You have every reason to be just as bitter yet you never say anything when my mom comes and you have to leave, even though the only reason why I don’t have to do the same is that your family doesn’t talk to you.”

His hand drops to Tobio’s shoulder. He can’t hold the eye contact any longer. “Thank you for being here, with me.”

Tobio kisses him.

One hand curls around Tadashi’s hip as the other laces their fingers together. It’s warm, it’s sweet, and it’s not enough.

As Tobio’s mouth coaxes his open, the slightest sweep of tongue against his teeth, Tadashi reminisces the hundreds of times they’ve done this, how Tobio’s managed to make him feel unbearably loved each time. He wants that love to fill him up, so thoroughly he won’t be able to do anything but bask in it for hours afterwards.

He breaks the kiss, whispering “Tobio,” bringing their connected hands to his groin.

Tobio brands one last kiss on his neck before acknowledging his words, circling their hands over where Tadashi left them. “How about you sit back and let me spoil you tonight?”

His voice, from soothing to seductive in such a short time, holds the funeral for the last of Tadashi’s coherent thoughts. Tobio lines his back with the pillow as he leaves his side in favour of the space between his thighs. He takes his time preparing Tadashi from over his pyjama bottoms in slow rubs, warm breath traversing the thin fabric to caress the crease of his thighs. His free hand reaches underneath Tadashi to find the patch of sensitive skin just above the swell of his ass, scratching a firm line over it when he finds it.

That’s always the part where Tadashi loses his words, where he effectively becomes putty in Tobio’s hands. His throat works around an unwitting whine as, in agonising slow motion, pyjama bottoms and boxers slide off his hips and thighs, all the way to his knees. Tobio hums at the sight, like he’s presented a delicious slice of cake he’d give anything to devour in seconds, the way one would be excited for food and food only: the only thing people don’t get tired of, no matter how many times they’ve eaten before.

Does food feel such elation moments before it’s eaten? Are the dark, damp walls of our mouths a source of comfort for food as it is a comfort for us, or is it a cruel lie before acid dissolves food into its molecules, painful and hot?

Tobio takes most of him in his mouth first thing. The hotness, the wetness is familiar, a routine he falls into like breakfast, lunch, dinner. Eyes fluttering closed, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

Tobio’s hum vibrates around him, tickling and leaving him chasing after the sensation. Tobio saves himself from gagging just in time with an educated guess, pulling away as Tadashi arches his hips off the bed. For as long as a fleeting glance at a high school crush, his head hangs over Tadashi’s cock, the wind of his breath caressing and swathing, before he does that thing he does, the thing that fills Tadashi with love and fondness even through the haze of arousal. He rests his head on Tadashi’s hips, facing his erection, nose brushing the flesh, and even though Tadashi can’t see his expression now, he knows it’s one of adoration and appreciation.

The moment ends as Tobio apparently decides Tadashi’s waited enough, saying goodbye with a flick of his tongue at the base of Tadashi’s cock before he returns at full force, taking Tadashi in as far as his mouth allows, grazing teeth making Tadashi hiss. It’s always a wonder how a subdued, quiet person like himself can surrender to the basest of human necessities so openly, without any inhibitions, only unabashed sounds, fingers only self-serving as they bunch up sheets. Between them, there are no secrets.

Tobio works his tongue on the underside of Tadashi’s cock as the suction-and-release pattern of his mouth does the work—the soft, wet constraints of the oral cavity, the almost tender touch of molar teeth, Tobio’s growls whenever Tadashi demands “Just like that,” it all drives the point further home. The hand around Tadasi’s waist tickles the sweet spot below as if the strain on Tobio’s biceps he uses to hold himself up is nothing. Knowing Tobio, it probably is nothing.

Tobio pops out of his place of worship to flash Tadashi one self-assured smile, one that shows uncovers the brash Tobio a helpless Tadashi first fell for as a fresh-faced high schooler. He asks, “Am I good?”

As if he doesn’t know the answer.

Tadashi has half a mind to retort, to answer in kind and say, “I don’t know, do you think so?” but it’s not a realistic aspiration when he can barely keep himself from coming right then and there. He whispers, a broken, pitiful sound, “You’re the best.”

Tilting his head, playful, confident, relentless, Tobio eyes Tadashi’s cock and licks his lips in what can’t be anything but a move meticulously calculated to turn Tadashi’s knees to mush. He flutters a kiss on the tip; not taking Tadashi inside his mouth, not bringing tongue or teeth out, he keeps planting feathery kisses on all the sensitive parts as Tadashi writhes under him, hypersensitive after weeks of minimal human contact, attuned to the slightest puff of breath out of Tobio’s nose.

If this is what love is, smouldering like an offering of incense, craving the fire, devouring it in no time, always asking for more, Tadashi doesn’t know why people don’t run away from it like escaping a building on fire.

But then Tobio exhales with a soft, dreamy sound, like he’s absolutely delighted at forking into a piece of birthday cake after a satisfying meal, and perhaps Tadashi knows. He knows it in the building sensation in his stomach, the one Tobio revels in even though he can’t feel it, even though he only gives without taking. Tadashi can see it; they burn together. He twines his fingers through Tobio’s hair, tugging to make him look up. When Tobio does, he beckons him closer with his other hand.

Tobio understands.

Tadashi can’t be mad, can’t be anything but drunk on love and lust and pleasure, when Tobio slides over his body just so, the creases of his clothes catching on the sensitive head of his exposed cock. Shuddering, Tadashi welcomes Tobio with his open mouth, his shutting eyes, formerly beckoning hand now inching up and finding respite on Tobio’s nape. Tobio is frustratingly poised as always, unaffected by the heat that holds Tadashi captive, and his tongue drags leisurely across Tadashi’s teeth for much too short before he’s gone. Through the haze, Tadashi notes drool oozing out of his still parted lips, trickling down his cheek down to his neck, as Tobio’s hands align his compliant body so they lie facing each other.

Now comfortable, Tobio resumes undoing Tadashi with his mouth. One hand on Tadashi’s cheek, the other now wrapped around his shaft, applying slight pressure on the head with his thumb and finger, he kisses, and Tadashi just goes wherever Tobio takes him.

Eventually, they have to stop kissing as Tobio can’t focus on touching him and kissing him at the same time, but their lips stay connected, the same puff of air exchanged between them as Tobio’s hand, in no hurry, like they have all the time in the world, coaxes heady moans out of him. Tobio’s each exhale fills Tadashi’s mouth, pieces of his lover that are no longer needed, so Tadashi takes them, wolfs them down. The air is hotter each time through accumulated body heat, heavy with humidity, and Tadashi imagines Tobio in his mouth in his full glory instead of this empty space his tongue closes on. It’s this thought in the end that tips him over the edge, the dream of the weight on his tongue, the ghost of some salty warmth from another time trickling down his throat to merge into him.

He’s too tired to open his eyes as Tobio eases him into a comfortable rest on his back and cleans him off with what is presumably his shirt.

“I told you not to do that,” he complains through barely parted lips. Tobio replies some smug “hmph” before kissing him on the forehead. A hand finds Tadashi’s and as their fingers entwine, Tobio beckons his attention with a soft “Look at me,” planting a kiss on his lips when he obeys.

“You’re always here for me, too,” he says, deep voice like a lullaby to Tadashi’s already drowsy mind. “Those thoughts that come and go can’t ruin what we have. What counts is what you do, and the choices you make over and over again every day.”

Heat creeps up Tadashi’s neck. “How can you be so perfect,” he whines.

Tobio’s laugh is little more than a loud exhale but it holds all the mirth in the world. “Only the best for you.”

And Tadashi can tolerate this life of isolation only because it means a home for two, an undisturbed space and a quiet night like this, Tobio in his rightful bed and claiming his rightful space beside him. Even though it comes with a price, Tadashi has profuse and all-encompassing love in his life, a love that’s fighting for, and that alone is enough good fortune to keep him upright, steady and smiling beside the one he’s chosen to share his life with.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
